


Kiss of Ice

by brokibrodinson



Category: Hornblower (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Ice Play, Ice Sprite Edrington, M/M, Slutty Edrington, Winter King Bush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 20:18:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11387649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokibrodinson/pseuds/brokibrodinson
Summary: An inquisitive ice sprite happens upon a lonely king.





	Kiss of Ice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yamibree](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yamibree/gifts).



> This is a standalone piece I wrote to a larger AU yamibree and I are creating in which Bush is the King of Winter, and Archie a Prince of Summer. I don't know if the completed RP will ever end up here. Probably not. We've not even started it anyway. 
> 
> As this is an AU, I hope you'll forgive giant disparities where characterisation is concerned.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> (PS. the working title was 'edrington and bush are icy boys.')

The frost is especially sharp today, Edrington thinks idly as he wanders through the evergreens. Too sharp to be his own doing. Ice sprites such as he enjoy the delicacy of snowflakes and light frost perched upon spider web silk; not usually this cutting ice and crushing snow. The wind bites; had he been of a different element he’d have found it quite uncomfortable. Instead he’s simply curious.

The frigid breeze cuts through him and evokes an almost pleasurable shiver. He decides to follow it and see if he can spy the source of this dark and lonely cold.

The hard snow crunching beneath his feet, he lets the wind guide him towards a clearing surrounded by ancient pines, their needles dusted in white. A lone figure stands silent in the centre.

Edrington stops, surprised. He’d expected a spirit or fae of winter, not the Winter King _himself_. He stands tall, wreathed in a mantle of heavy furs over gleaming plate, his dark curls tied. Apparently sensing the ice sprite, he turns to face him.

Edrington’s breath catches, awed despite himself. The Winter King’s eyes shine icy blue among the otherwise monochrome white of the clearing, and his face is stern and proud.

“What do you here, little sprite?” he asks, his voice cold as the howling wind.

Edrington bows shortly; he is not of the King’s Court and therefore not one of his vassals, but a king is still owed his respect. “Just wandering, My Lord,” he answers honestly. “I did not mean to disturb you.”

The king shakes his head, freeing some of the snow that had landed there. “You did not. I am on a bit of a wander myself.” His voice is no less icy, but it seems less forbidding now.

Edrington has always been very daring for an ice sprite; a species who are known for their steadfast and reserved demeanours. Often he has left his own people to explore, finding their inflexibility and aloofness extremely dull. Had it not been for his natural talent with frost he’d have wondered if his lineage had been mistaken, his personal conduct closer to that of an earth or even a flame sprite. So it was that he saw an opportunity in the king’s words; one he was audacious enough to take.

“Perhaps we might wander together, My Lord?” he asks pertly. “Forgive me, but you look somewhat lacking for company.”

The king raises an eyebrow. “ _Are_ you a frost sprite? Perhaps I was mistaken.”

Edrington chuckles and the eyebrow rises higher; ice sprites are not known for mirth. “I am.” He approaches, entering the clearing and hoping he is not misreading the situation. He senses no danger from the king, but knows little about him, only that he mostly keeps to himself up in the tallest tower of his palace. Wouldn’t the sprites back home be envious if he was able to learn more? Not that they’d admit it.

The king merely watches him approach, looking somewhat bemused now. “You wish to accompany me?” he asks finally, once Edrington is standing before him.

“If you’ll have me,” Edrington replies with deliberate cheek. This close to the Winter King, he can sense the power emanating from him; it feels like black fathomless ice and the wild relentless winds of winter. It makes him shudder, not unpleasantly.

The king looks at him like he’s not quite sure what to make of this bold little sprite. “What is your name?” he asks.

“Alexander of Edrington, My Lord,” Edrington replies, bowing again.

He receives a nod of acknowledgement. “Perhaps I should chasten you for your impertinence,” the king muses. “But truth be told, I find it rather refreshing.” He holds out a gauntleted hand, the edges sharp. “Come.”

Edrington obeys, holding out his hand for the king to take once he’s in reach. This time a full-bodied shiver goes through him as the freezing metal touches his skin.

The king gives him a quizzical look. “Surely you are not _cold_ ,” he says in disbelief, not releasing his hand.

The sprite smiles faintly, a little overwhelmed by sensation. “Not cold, my Lord.”

“Hmm.” With his other hand, the king reaches out and touches Edrington’s face with the sharp tip of his gloved finger, tracing his face from brow to jaw. Then, unexpectedly, he takes firm grip of his chin and raises Edrington’s face to meet his piercing gaze.

Edrington doesn’t try to resist, standing caught as he stares back in wonder, the touch on his skin searing him with true cold, the likes of which he’s never felt before.

“You’re an odd one,” the king says at last, and releases him. “On your way...” he trails off as Edrington makes a low sound of disappointment as the touch is removed, staring at the sprite in real astonishment now.

Admittedly this hadn’t been at the forefront of Edrington’s mind when it came to approaching the king, but he’d be hard pressed to turn down a dalliance with the King of Winter, if it was offered.  “I’ve never felt such pure ice,” he says honestly, letting his wonder show in his voice. “Would you... would you touch me again, My Lord?”

Still looking nonplussed, the Winter King nevertheless extends his hand again, touching his cheek in a light caress that makes Edrington _moan_. He’s so shocked he nearly drops his hand, but the sprite takes hold of his wrist to keep it there, after a moment even daring to take his thumb between his lips and sucking on it, eyelids fluttering shut as the icy sharpness touches his tongue.

“You are walking a dangerous path, little sprite,” the king says finally, his voice rough. “It is not usually wise to tempt a royal fae.”

Edrington releases his thumb to answer breathlessly, “Tempter I may be, but not one without intent.” He meets the king’s gaze again, his eyes dark as evergreen bark. “I would not leave you unsatisfied, My Lord.”

In a flurry of furs and snow, he finds himself on his back, the king hovering over him, knees on either side of his waist. He reaches down to touch Edrington’s hair, stroking his bright curls curiously. “You are sure?” he asks, voice barely more than a growl.

Edrington nods impatiently; the heavy weight of the king in his armour and furs pressing him down into the snow sending ice through his veins in a flood of arousal. “Yes, My Lord.”

The king shakes his head. “You must call me William during,” he insists. “Or at the very least Bush.”

“Bush,” Edrington tests the name out; he hadn’t known the king by any other name than his title. He grinds up against Bush’s body; he doubts the king can feel it through his layers but it still makes Bush’s breath catch and his pupils dilate. “Please, Bush.”

Bush snarls like a wolf, clawing at Edrington’s delicate attire of woven frost to bare his pale skin and lowering his head to capture his mouth in a wintery kiss that freezes Edrington right to his toes.

Edrington pants, and though there is no warmth in him, the difference in extremity of cold between him and Bush makes his breath visible in the frigid air surrounding the king. “You’re so cold,” he murmurs in wonder, then pulls Bush down to kiss him again, wanting to feel the ice of his lips on his.

Bush doesn’t respond except physically, his kisses growing rougher, fiercer, his mouth leaving a trail of frost as he kisses down Edrington’s throat and chest. One of his hands in its sharp gauntlet toys with his nipple, making him gasp and arch up against the ground at the intensity on his sensitive skin.

He hears Bush chuckle to himself as he does it again, teasing him mercilessly until Edrington is moaning and writhing in the snow, his legs wrapped around Bush to feel as much of him on his skin as possible.

“Gods, _please_ ,” he begs, desperate for satisfaction; he hadn’t expected to be teased _himself_! “You will drive me mad.”

Bush laughs, the sound terrifying and thrilling at the same time. “You will not go mad, little one,” he promises. “You are too entertaining as you are.” He relents however, sitting up to remove his gauntlet; watching him, Edrington weighs up telling him not to, but decides it would be unwise; those clawed fingers are much too sharp to have inside him.

Tossing the removed black gauntlet aside, Bush invokes a silent spell that coats his fingers in a slippery substance, then without warning plunges two of them inside Edrington.

Edrington _screams_. The sensation of the Winter King’s icy fingers inside him is overwhelming to his senses; he’s so cold it _burns_.

Bush does not remove the digits but waits for him to adjust, watching him with wry amusement as little shudders continue to rock him. He adjusts soon enough however, his body coping much better than a sprite of any other element would have. He nods, and Bush continues, stretching him with his fingers of pure ice until Edrington is panting with need again.

“You’re the most wanton ice sprite I’ve ever met,” Bush comments roughly, removing his fingers from Edrington’s body.

“Take me,” Edrington begs in response.

If his fingers had been cold, it’s nothing compared to Bush’s cock. Edrington bites his lip to keep from crying out as the pleasure-pain of the king’s erection stretches him further. The purity of his bitter cold is a marvel to Edrington, and while his senses scramble to interpret the sensation, his own cock feels harder than it’s ever been before.

He stretches to pull at Bush’s hair, tugging it free of its restraints until his curls spring free to hang about the king’s face. His other hand sneaks down to palm himself, his skin almost warm in comparison to Winter’s touch.

Bush is surprisingly gentle at first, but soon hits his stride once his partner’s adjusted, fucking into Edrington with long deep thrusts that have the sprite moaning unabashedly into each one.  He leans down to kiss him again, fingers tangled in Edrington’s curls and tugging at them as he swallows his sounds of pleasure.

When he draws back again, he sees Edrington’s hand as he works himself and smirks, knocking it aside. Instead he replaces it with his _own_ frozen touch, stroking him in time to his thrusts, and Edrington just about ascends to the next world.

Unable to concentrate on so much overstimulation, all he can do is lie back against the snow and take it, panting and whimpering.

Bush smiles down sharply at him, his own icy breaths accelerated. “Come for me, little sprite,” he orders.

Edrington is helpless to resist the command, his body arching off the ground as he spills all over himself and Bush’s hand with an uncontrolled cry of release.

The king lets go of his cock and grips his hips instead, driving into him with new purpose as Edrington continues to shiver through the aftershocks of his orgasm. He doesn’t relent until he too has reached his peak, almost snarling as he comes, both hands holding Edrington in place.

Edrington can only lie there, blinking dazedly up at the king, while Bush gathers himself, rearranging his imposing attire and pulling his discarded gauntlet back on. Once done, he offers Edrington a hand up, pulling him to his feet with impressive strength that would have aroused the sprite all over again were he not so thoroughly sated.

“You are not hurt?” Bush asks calmly, his voice still containing a pleasant huskiness.

Edrington shakes his head; his senses are still reeling a little, but he has not sustained any injuries as far as he can tell, except perhaps a little bruising around his hips.  “No, My Lord,” he replies, reverting to formality as he pulls his clothing back around him. He smiles slyly, hoping he looks as deliciously debauched as he feels. “I’ve never felt better.”

It’s true; Edrington is still a relatively young sprite, and the Winter King is his fiercest lover yet. He knows he’ll be thinking about this experience for months.

Bush smiles ever so slightly, the expression softening further as he touches Edrington’s cheek and sees the sprite lean into it. “I grant you permission to enter my palace, little sprite” he says gravely. He grins briefly, the expression transforming his features dramatically. “For business or for pleasure,” he adds.

Edrington’s eyes widen in shock; the King of Winter wishes to see him _again_?

By the time he’s recovered enough to question this proclamation, Bush has taken a step back and transformed into a flurry of howling wind and sleet, which blows out of the clearing and through the forest in a powerful gust of wintry magic.

The sprite watches him go, still reeling. If it weren’t for the unusual chill lingering upon his skin he’d have thought he imagined the whole encounter. As it is, he can almost imagine he still feels the king’s touch, and he shivers with delight.

**Author's Note:**

> lmao idk
> 
> thanks for reading!


End file.
